Homeless
by Allocin
Summary: The Dursleys abandon young Harry, and it's all hands on deck to find him again. Little do they know, life for him just took another wild turn.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Homeless  
AUTHOR: Allocin  
SUMMARY: The Dursleys abandon young Harry, and it's all hands on deck to find him again. Little do they know, life for him just took another wild turn.  
RATING: PG  
CATEGORIES: Drama/General  
CHARACTERS: Harry, Remus, ensemble.  
TIMELIME: Pre-PS/SS (c.1987)  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter and all related merchandise. I make no profit from this. Don't sue. Also, I mean no offence to anyone, especially Carnies – I know you're not all dishonest.

_Chapter 1_

Remus rubbed at his tired eyes and slumped lower in the seat, rocking gently to and fro with the movement of the stagecoach. Every muscle in his body throbbed and creaked with aching pain; the night before last had been a full moon and, despite the basic healing charms he had cast, he still felt like a walking bruise. He watched distractedly as the Forbidden Forest rolled passed him, the Whomping Willow, the Hogwarts lake. So many memories were on these grounds, of his three closest friends and their mad antics, but he blocked them off; they were all painful to him now.

Under the early morning sun, Hogwarts shone with an otherworldly beauty. Remus left the questionable comfort of the stagecoach, and took a moment to stand and stare unabashedly at the castle. He hadn't seen it in years, and Hogwarts had been like a home to him as a child. With a small, tired sigh, he straightened his travel-stained cloak and stepped through the open doors.

It being the summer holidays, the corridors were silent. His footsteps echoed all around him as he made his way to the Headmaster's office. Even after so long, he could have reached his destination if he was deaf and blind, so often had he been there. Remus noticed on his journey that the school really hadn't changed since he had attended as a boy. There were the same portraits, the same suits of armour, the same statues, all a flash from the past and yet present beneath his fingertips. He smiled sadly and moved on, approaching the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. He had been summoned for a reason, therefore there was no time for nostalgia.

"Fizzing Whizbees." The statue leapt aside, revealing the familiar moving staircase, which Remus stepped onto. Anxiousness knotted his stomach as he rose higher and higher in the tower, bathed in a golden glow of warm sunlight. The solid door looked strangely intimidating, and he felt like a naughty child sent to be told off, even though he knew rationally that he hadn't actually done anything. He raised his hand to knock.

"Come in, Remus," Dumbledore said. Remus shook his head in amusement; he never had managed to work out how the Headmaster always knew who it was. He pushed the door open and moved to the only available seat. Hagrid and Snape were there already, and Remus was thankful he could only sit next to the half-giant, who smiled warmly at him.

"What took you so long, Lupin?" Snape sneered, predictably. Lupin smiled apologetically at the Headmaster.

"I'm sorry for being late, Dumbledore. The floo was very busy," he said. Dumbledore returned the smile. He rummaged in his drawer, and pulled out a bowl of sweets.

"Lemon drop, anyone?" he asked pleasantly. No one took up his offer, making the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye shine even brighter. Upon turning to them after putting the sweets away, however, his expression had dimmed. "I have some bad news," he stated gravely. Remus thought the Headmaster cast a particularly concerned look in his direction, but dismissed the notion. Unconsciously, he braced himself though. The nervous twisting of his gut assured him what he was about to hear would not be to his liking.

Fawkes rested on Dumbledore's shoulder in a glory found only after his Burning Day. "Tea?" the Headmaster asked politely. All but Snape said yes. He sat grumpily in his chair with folded arms and a heavy scowl on his face. Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah," he said, "I do believe Severus suspects why I brought you here." Impossibly, Snape's expression and mood grew darker still. Hagrid shifted uncomfortably.

"Those Potters will never cease to plague me," Snape growled. Remus' jaw snapped audibly shut, teeth grinding against each other. He was spread mightily thin these days, and was not the patient, kind man of previous years. Snape silently heeded the warning and kept quiet. Hagrid had slopped his tea and was trying to dab it up while staring at Dumbledore.

"Little baby 'arry?" What about 'im?" he asked curiously. Having spent the last few days in the Forbidden Forest where news couldn't reach him he had missed the recent Daily Prophet reports on the Boy-Who-Lived's sudden and upsetting disappearance, which condemned the Ministry more than Dumbledore.

"Harry Potter has gone missing."

Remus felt winded. Images of the tiny baby boy he had cooed over flashed through his mind's eye, laughing and joyful. Harry had been such a happy infant. He had been devastated when the Ministry refused his appeal to adopt Harry, and even more so when Dumbledore had agreed with them. When Remus learnt that Harry was going to live with Lily's despicable sister, he had never felt more helpless. Though Dumbledore had convinced him that it was the best place for Harry, at the back of his mind Remus had always had a sliver of doubt. Now his fears were becoming reality.

"He won't be little anymore, Hagrid. But that's beside the point. What does this have to do with us, Headmaster?" Snape snapped.

Dumbledore continued, "Ministry officials noticed the wards fading last week, though his guardians claim he ran away a month ago. This means that Harry has been missing for thirty days; he could be anywhere, with anyone." Remus swirled the dregs of his tea; he hadn't taken Divination as a student, but his travels had taught him a bit of the subject. What he saw in his teacup slightly terrified him.

"Is Black still in Azkaban?" he asked suddenly with a suspiciously thick voice. Dumbledore's face became very taught, cold eyes blazing with anger for the briefest second.

"Yes," he answered sharply, only softening at the dark look on his former pupil's face.

"Why?"

"I see no point in discussing that murderer! If he hasn't escaped then he has nothing to do with the subject," Snape interrupted harshly, voice simply dripping with loathing. Remus nodded even as Dumbledore frowned disapprovingly. There was a moment's contemplative silence, during which Hagrid sniffed repeatedly.

"Undoubtedly you realise," Dumbledore quietly spoke, "that finding Mr. Potter is of tremendous importance. He is alone and vulnerable, and neither he nor we have time to wait for the Ministry to perform their duties to him."

"Why don't you just cast a tracking spell?" Snape asked. Dumbledore sighed deeply.

"It would be too easy for a follower of Voldemort -" Hagrid winced "- to do the same. A Find-Me-Not charm was cast on the boy and time-locked to end a week before his eleventh birthday. We have no choice but to hunt him down the old-fashioned way." Snape nodded, feeling rather stupid for not thinking of that before. Of course Dumbledore would hide the boy away from Death Eaters. There were still plenty about who were itching to avenge their Master's fall.

"Now Hagrid," the Headmaster said, full attention suddenly on the half-giant, "I need you to speak to the creatures. Ask them if they've seen anything suspicious." Hagrid nodded readily.

Dumbledore turned to Remus, asking a silent question: are you ready for this? Remus took a deep breath, preparing himself for any task he was to be set. A small smile played on Dumbledore's lips as he spoke again. "You search the Muggle world, as you know it better than I. See if there have been any sightings." Remus bowed his head in acquiescence, then watched with a spark of his mischievous self as Snape was fixed with the all-knowing stare. The potions master, for his part, looked like he had been force-fed live snakes that were now writhing in his gut. Remus almost felt sorry for him; almost.

"I cannot force you to do anything, Severus, and ask only as a favour to me that I will repay at a later date," said Dumbledore. Snape's lip curled back rather like a dog's. Remus smiled into his cup, despite himself. Closing his eyes, Snape nodded with the air of someone accepting a suicide mission. "Thank you, Severus. Please could you ask your underworld contacts to see if there have been any disturbances in that quadrant?"

Dumbledore stopped, and looked at each in turn. "I understand," he said quietly, "that I am putting a mess in your hands that belongs to myself and the Ministry. I am greatly appreciative and if there is anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask." The room was silent as those words were absorbed, interrupted shortly by an encouraging trill from Fawkes. Remus stood first.

"Best get to looking," he murmured wearily. The years hadn't been kind to him, but determination shone readily through his features. Hagrid and Snape rose too. With courteous nods to the Headmaster they filed after each other down the stairs. Snape and Remus left without a word to each other. They had been given their missions, and neither was in the mood to force pleasantries on one another. Hagrid watched them go with a heavy heart before making his way back to the Forbidden Forest.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

The mug had slipped out of his grasp before he could catch it. Its shattering had caused everyone in the kitchen to freeze, motionless. Harry had slowly raised his head to look at Aunt Petunia's face. She had grown pale and taut, her entire body shaking with repressed anger. Uncle Vernon's moustache had twitched dangerously. Dudley had smiled with childish glee, his podgy face twisted grotesquely. Before Harry could do or say anything, his aunt's bony hand had clamped around his arm and dragged him to his cupboard, tossing him in like a rag doll. She had locked the door and closed the vent, and with no light bulb, Harry had been left in utter darkness.

Since then he had smelt lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, and the evening snack. Dudley had gone to bed, and the television was off. Harry curled in on himself, the sweat finally beginning to dry on his skin. He was separated from the boiler by only a thin woodchip wall, and Dudley had been for a bath so it was very hot. Combined with the horrid heat wave that suffocated the country, Harry's flushed body was beginning to hurt.

He was rubbing his forehead against the skimpy pillow, distracting himself with the different sensations between the normal skin and his scar, when he heard his guardians discussing something in the kitchen. It sounded urgent, and Harry was curious even though he knew it was wrong to eavesdrop.

"I can't stand him anymore," Aunt Petunia said. Harry could imagine her pacing between the table and the fridge, back and forth. A chair creaked - Uncle Vernon had shifted slightly.

"What do you want me to do pet?" he asked. There was a screech, meaning Aunt Petunia had pulled up a seat. Her voice quietened.

"We have to get rid of him. Dump him at an orphanage or somewhere," she whispered. Harry heard a spoon scrape in a bowl; Uncle Vernon was probably having a last bit of ice cream before bed.

"I said that when he first arrived. But what about them? They'll be able to find him at an orphanage. He has to disappear completely," he answered. There was a pause.

"We'll just have to dump him, pretend he ran away. They can't find him if he's not on any records," she said finally.

"I can take him tonight," Uncle Vernon concurred. When the conversation turned to Dudley and his artwork from school, Harry tuned them out. He sat up, back to the wall, and stared into the blackness. He may have been only seven, but he knew whom his guardians had been talking about. After years of threats and promises, they were finally going to get rid of him. He felt a lump form in his throat at this ultimate sign of rejection, but as always he blinked back the tears. He would never give the Dursleys the satisfaction of knowing they had hurt him. It would only spur them on. The boiler gurgled, and Harry fell into a light sleep.

He awoke when someone descended not-so-lightly down the stairs. From long years of practice, Harry could tell it was Uncle Vernon. He sat up, and stared fearfully at the cupboard door. It opened with a creak, and suddenly Harry was looking into the red round face of his uncle. A small, old rucksack of Dudley's was tossed at him.

"Put all your stuff in that," Uncle Vernon ordered gruffly before backing away. He left the cupboard door open, thankfully, allowing light from the kitchen in. Harry stared around his small room briefly, trying to memorise every detail. Yes, Dudley got two bedrooms, but the cupboard had been Harry's. He would miss it.

Harry had very little to pack in the bag. He stuffed in his ragged blanket, and a couple pairs of underwear that he had hidden in his pillow. He did have a small metal box, no bigger than a photograph and just deep enough to hold his glasses. This wasn't its purpose though; in it, Harry kept everything of value to him. Most of the objects were things he found outside, like an obsidian stone or the charm off someone's necklace. They were only small, because anything bigger attracted Dudley's unenviable attention and were swiftly stolen away. Harry carefully placed it in the rucksack, followed by a few drawings and his pitiful supply of crayons.

Uncle Vernon was putting a packet of chocolate bars into his briefcase when Harry entered the kitchen. Their eyes met for a second, before Harry lowered his head as was the custom. His uncle clicked his briefcase shut and lifted it off the table.

"Come on then, boy," he muttered. Harry obediently followed the large man out the front door.

It was silent in the car as they drove out of Little Whinging, picked up the main road and headed west. Harry sat in the backseat with his rucksack clutched tightly, watching the scenery flash by in a blur of streetlamps and shadows. The tyres hummed beneath him, and there was a strange whooshing sound in his ears, but Harry didn't mind. He felt sleepy, which was no surprise; it was very early morning.

They pulled off the motorway and stopped in a nondescript town. Uncle Vernon climbed out of the car and yanked Harry's door open roughly.

"Get out," he snapped. Harry did so, backing away from the car and his suddenly irate guardian. "Now you listen to me, boy. You don't know us. You've never heard of the name Dursley. You ran away from home and can't remember where you used to live. Got that? Keep your head down and don't talk to anyone. If we hear any word of you there'll be trouble! Understand?" Uncle Vernon poked Harry in the shoulder to emphasise the point, then climbed back into the car.

Harry stared at the retreating number plate, feeling lost and forlorn, until it was out of sight. He glanced about him, looking for a place to stay so he could sleep. He couldn't go to an adult, or the Dursleys would hear about it. Harry didn't want to tempt their wrath again. He spied a darkened alley between two shops across the street and dashed over to it. It was empty and it was sheltered, which was good enough for him. Harry settled down, using his rucksack as a pillow. It was, thankfully, cooler outside under the stars than during the day; so cool, in fact, that Harry shivered. Then he remembered his blanket. Once wrapped snugly in that, his exhaustion overcame his anxiety and he fell to sleep.

Harry spent the next day wandering aimlessly around the town. He didn't attract too much attention; no more than usual at least, due to the hand-me-downs that he wore, which was just fine with him. He quickly learnt the layout of the streets, where there were food shops and schools, and a park.

Harry took an immediate liking to the park. It wasn't particularly large, but it had a small duck pond in the centre, as well as a winding path running through it and a few metal benches. He spent most of the evening sat in the shade of a willow tree by the pond, watching people stroll past the wrought iron fence without a care in the world: old ladies, young couples, children about his age skipping merrily, sometimes rattling sticks against the railings. When the first stars began to appear, he returned to the alley he spent his first night in. The heat of the summer day faded and he fell asleep once again cocooned in his ragged blanket, ignoring the incessant rumbling of his empty stomach.

The end of the third day Harry spent on the streets saw him digging through rubbish bins outside a fast food restaurant for leftover meals, so hungry was he. He tried not to think of how disgusting it was to be eating out of a rubbish bin as he wolfed down half-finished burgers and leftover chips. He had waited until night so that fewer people were likely to see him and chase him off, and the dark hid him well from the occasional car driving along the high street. Harry could just imagine Aunt Petunia's face if she ever knew what he was doing, and was heartily glad that she didn't.

It was the next day, sitting in the park one evening as he had become his habit, that Harry realised the Dursleys had abandoned him. While this terrified him, as it would most children, it also brought to him a startling truth: he could do what he wanted now. He didn't have to run from Dudley, or scrub the floor, or stay in his cupboard for hours at a time. He was free from all that. For the first time in many months, a true smile broke out on Harry's dirty face.

"Are you alright there, son?" a deep voice asked. Harry jumped, blinking up at a towering silhouette. The man squatted so Harry didn't have to crane his neck to look at him; it was a policeman, obviously concerned about him judging by the frown on his face. Harry bit his lip - Uncle Vernon had warned him to stay low, or else there would be trouble. "I haven't seen you in Verwood before," the policeman said casually, drawing Harry's attention to him. Harry merely shrugged. The policeman sat himself by the tree, studiously not looking at Harry. "Where are you parents?" he nonchalantly asked.

"Dead," Harry blurted out before he could think about it. The policeman's expression grew even more concerned but he said nothing. They remained like this for a while, both pretending to watch the world go by while discreetly observing the other, giving Harry time to come up with a plan. He hated lying, because it was something Dudley always did, but in this situation he didn't really have a choice. He couldn't let the policeman take him back to the Dursleys.

"Where are you going?" the policeman asked when Harry stood and futilely tried to brush away the mud stains on his overly large clothes. Harry gave him the most innocent look he could muster, the kind Dudley gave Aunt Petunia when he was blaming Harry for something he himself had done.

"I'm going to be late for dinner if I don't go home soon," Harry answered with a fake smile. The policeman frowned in confusion .

"I thought your parents had passed away?"

"They have," Harry answered breezily. The thought itself always made him hurt a little, but he could cover it up quite easily because the Dursleys had often used it in an attempt to make him miserable. The policeman stood also. "My aunt and uncle look after me," Harry explained. The look of dawning realisation on the policeman's face sent relief coursing through his body. He wasn't going to be taken back to the Dursleys!

"Okay laddie, but you be careful walking home." Harry nodded agreeably and set off at a quick march. It was earlier than normal for him to be leaving the park, but at least he wasn't going to a police station.

The alley was familiar territory for him; Harry sighed in relief, now that he was away from the danger. The feeling quickly evaporated as a large, grease-stained man - the owner of the restaurant next door where Harry stole his food from - loomed out of the shadows, Harry's rucksack in hand.

"Get lost, you little beggar," he growled, tossing the bag at Harry, who caught it clumsily and clutched it to him. "If I ever see you here again I'll make you pay for it! I'll call the police! You'll be sorry you were ever born!" he growled menacingly. Harry stood, dumbfounded that he was being thrown out again. The man stamped his foot, sending Harry dashing skittishly away down the high street. He didn't once look back.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

The heat was suffocating, closing in around everything contained within the realms of an English summer. Stickiness clamped onto hot bodies, and no wind blew with the promise of fresh air. Harry succumbed to the stifling conditions and pulled off his thin t-shirt. The brick of his new hiding place was rough and scratched his back, but it felt blessedly cool against his flushed flesh. Sweat gleamed on his body like an extra layer of shiny skin, occasional rivulets pooling in his navel. A soft sigh escaped him as he relaxed completely, trying to think of the cooler winters that would bring stinging gales and pounding rain.

Harry had fainted five times in the midday sun. His face was red with sunburn and his lips had cracked because he didn't have enough water. In the middle of the night the thirst was almost unbearable. It was that afternoon, having fainted for the fifth time, that Harry decided more desperate measures were needed. He had watched others do it to impress their friends, seen them laughing as they drank refreshing coca-cola, so Harry was going to march straight into the Co-op across the street when it opened and steal a bottle of water.

The very thought of thieving something that wasn't his made him cringe and think of all the times Dudley had stolen his things; or the incidents where he had taken food from the kitchen because he was so hungry, but had been found out and locked in the cupboard as punishment. Harry didn't know what else to do though. He was desperately thirsty, but the pond in the park was just too dirty. He had tried the water and quickly spat it out again, so horrible did it taste. Harry had come to his last resort.

If nothing else, he was stubbornly persistent when his mind was made up. As he had promised himself, he walked into the Co-op when it was busiest, tagging behind a woman with a stroller so that people would think he was her son. Silencing all last minute debates in his mind, Harry wasted no time in making his way over to the aisles with bottled water. Before he could change his mind, Harry stealthily slipped one bottle beneath his baggy clothes. They hid it expertly, leaving him free to panic over getting out of the shop without being caught. Calmly, he rejoined his 'mother', keeping just enough distance so that he didn't attract her attention anymore than the staff's. He trailed her silently out of the shop, then began walking away, telling himself to slow down yet unable to obey that order because of his fear.

The hot, sticky air smacked his face as he left the air-conditioned building. He looked up, took a deep breath to clear his body of the last remaining shreds of terror, then took off at a dead run back to the new alley he had found. He didn't stop until he was there. Sweat flooded off his body, burning and chilling simultaneously. The shade was a welcome relief from the merciless sun, and he sucked in gasping breaths to calm his racing heart. The bottle he now clenched tightly in his hand trembled with the rest of his body. He couldn't believe he had done it. Giddy with excitement, he carefully unscrewed the lid and took a few tentative sips. It tasted clean, and it was wet on his swollen tongue. Harry was content.

Careful to save some, Harry only took a couple of mouthfuls before storing the rest away in his bag. Suddenly he wavered with dizziness. He recognised the warning signs of another black out and immediately moved to the little space he had created, laying on his side with his head on the rucksack. The fast sprint in the burning heat had taken its toll. Harry found no trouble in dropping off to sleep to rid him of the pounding headache, which had returned with a vengeance.

It was pitch black when someone grabbing him around the waist rudely awoke him. He was yanked carelessly off the ground. Squawking in shock, Harry's arms flailed for something to hold onto, accidentally whacking his captor around the head. An angry voice growled out a muffled curse word and promptly dropped him like a hot plate. Harry sprawled in a painful heap, his bare arms flaring where they scraped the concrete.

"Stupid brat," the stranger muttered, glaring down at him. Harry attempted to crawl backwards, but hit another pair of legs. Before he could react, a sharp pain shattered through his skull and true darkness claimed him.

It took a long time for his senses to return, but eventually Harry's mind righted itself to the extent that he was able to take stock of his immediate surroundings. The world was rocking back and forth, shaking and jumping and growling mechanically. Whatever surface he rested on was icy and metallic, yet seemed to burn at his skin. Cold air chilled his bones, slapped at his face, whipped his hair. His arms were cramped, but he couldn't move them for the rope tying his wrists behind his back. A throbbing headache pulsed in his skull. Harry groaned.

"Shut up!" someone growled. He recoiled as the sound struck like an axe to his brain. The world suddenly swerved left, and his head thudded painfully. Harry briefly saw stars, even though his eyes were closed and covered. Biting his lip to keep from whimpering, Harry strained his ears to listen to the voices at the front.

"…small enough, but he needs work. Needs training," someone grunted. He sounded young, his voice both petulant and eager. Harry fought to keep himself utterly still so he could hear better.

"The carnival is still a couple of days away," an older man said calmly, coldly. "We have time. If he values smooth skin, he will learn quickly." A silence enveloped the two men, filled only by the sound of wheels on the road. Despite his fear, despite his curiosity, the pain in Harry's head flared again and he quickly slipped back into blackness.

Reality hit once more when hands grabbed him roughly and tugged him across the floor. His bare arms burned with the friction, and something sharp gouged deeply into his cheek as he was hauled over a ledge. And then he fell, landing painfully on one shoulder. The breath was forced from his lungs in one heaving gasp. Harry lay there quite still, panting. Those hands gripped his shirt, hauled him to his shaky feet. He swayed with dizziness.

"Hey! Lookit this! He's near pissing himself!" laughed the younger man. Harry tried to stop himself from trembling, but even if he could beat his absolute terror, the night had turned remarkably chill. The older man chuckled.

"C'mon," he ordered, and the hands still clenched around his arm guided Harry. He stumbled over the uneven ground, slipped in the mud, provoking cruel sniggering from his assistant. "Hurry up!" snapped the older man. Harry's guide growled.

"Yes dad," he grunted beneath his breath. Their pace increased, and Harry, already breathless with fear, found it increasingly difficult to keep his legs moving up the slippery hill. At the very peak he splashed into a puddle, evidently they had had rain here, and tripped. Before he could struggle back to his feet he was being dragged through the wet mud. It was slimy and cold, soaking through his thin clothes and freezing him to the bone. It had been so hot earlier, his body wasn't adapted to the drastic change in temperature. He slid to a stop, his entire back utterly submerged in the mud.

Another set of hands yanked him to his feet and ripped the blindfold from his head, simultaneously yanking out a lock of his hair. Harry winced, and blinked repeatedly to see what he could make of his surroundings, but without his glasses it was all a dark blur. The presence of the two men either side of him made him cower, but they did not notice. Instead, Harry was pulled towards a gaping black square that was close to the ground, darker than the night coating them. Tumbling to the floor with the force of the shove, Harry turned swiftly and squinted in an attempt to see them better. It was a futile effort.

"Pleasant dreams," the younger man sneered. With a squeak the door was shut, and Harry was left in the oppressing dark. He could hear the pair trudging away, could hear the wind whistling through the gaps in the wood that made his prison. The cold mud was drying to his clothes now, and he shivered. His head hammered, his body ached. Harry felt utterly alone.

Curling up into a ball in the corner, he rested his head on his knees. He wanted to cry, but for some reason he couldn't. With a choked sob, he lowered his eyelids, effectively shutting out the world, and allowed the inner darkness to encompass him.

The light blinded Harry with its intensity, flooding into the square of his cell. He raised his head slowly, blinking at the brightness. A silhouette appeared in the door, crouching so it could see in. It beckoned to him, so Harry, stiff with cramp, slithered cautiously towards it. A hand reached in, and Harry flinched from it skittishly, but it caught hold of his shirt anyway and hauled him out into the sunshine that burned his eyes. Harry tried to find his feet, but his weak knees gave out beneath him and he sagged in the death grip of the hand.

"Stand up!" a voice barked. The words clattered around Harry's head, and he sought to obey it out of habit. He succeeded, to a degree, but the effort wore him out. The voice sniggered. It was familiar to him, and Harry tried to place it, eventually connecting it to the younger man of the previous night. He squinted again, peering up at the man's face. He had to crane his neck to look because the man was so huge, tall and muscled. His head was bristly with light-coloured hair only just growing back, and from beneath pale eyebrows stared a pair of grey, blank eyes. They were cruelly amused at Harry's struggles, and thin lips smirked in response.

"Ethan!" The young man spun on the spot, dragging Harry wildly around with him. The older man was marching across the grass towards them, a scowl gouging familiar lines in his forehead. "Don't just stand there, boy! Take him to the caravan!" he snapped. Both Ethan and Harry jumped at the word 'boy'. A growl rumbling in his chest, Ethan dragged Harry off towards a run-down campervan. Harry scraped his shins against the metal steps as they staggered inside.

"Sit!" Ethan snapped. Harry did, discreetly staring at the mess the room was in. The wallpaper was peeling, the carpet was threadbare, the settee he was next to was stained in unimaginable filth, and there were food cartons and dirty clothes all over. It made him cringe when he thought of all the cleaning he had undertaken at the Dursleys. Perhaps that was to be his job in the caravan.

Ethan stomped around the caravan's tiny kitchenette. The vehicle shook with every angry stamp he made. Harry backed himself against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. Ethan perched on the work surface, eating cereal out of the box and glaring at the door, which his father soon came through.

"Off the cabinet," he hissed. Ethan slid to the floor, but glared at his father's back when Harry became the subject of attention.

"You, boy," the older man addressed him whilst crouching. Harry looked up fearfully, tightening his arms around his knees. "My name's Cracker. What's yours?" Harry shifted slightly, curious at this friendlier approach to him.

"Harry Potter," he said. Cracker peered at him with piercing eyes. Harry jumped out of his skin when a fist suddenly shot out and grabbed at his baggy clothes, pulling him unbearably close to Cracker's lined and worn face.

"You're not him no more, understand?" Harry was shaken violently, his head snapping back painfully. "You're not Harry bloody Potter. You're no one! Understand? No family, no name, no home." Tears began to bead at the corner of Harry's eyes, but he managed to choke out 'yes'. Cracker abruptly released him, and he slumped against the wall, watching the two adults with a watery stare and rubbing at his sore neck.

"Move," Cracker snapped at Ethan. His son glared moodily at him, and didn't shift. Harry watched in morbid fascination as Cracker's shoulders tensed, and he seemed to swell, overpowering the room. Almost in slow motion Cracker's foot lashed out, catching Ethan in the ribs and making him curl into himself. The cereal spilt over the floor. Cracker's callused hand grabbed Ethan's grubby shirt as it had grabbed Harry's, yanking him to his feet. Cracker was much smaller than Ethan, but he was still strong, and evidently he was the one in command.

"'m sorry, sir," Ethan stuttered, head bowed submissively as he clutched his bruised chest. "'m sorry, 'm sorry." Cracker released him, taking a step back. Harry recognised the twitch in his hand though, and watched as it backhanded Ethan across the face. Blood splattered up the cupboard door. Ethan didn't move from his landing position on the worktop. Harry got a good look at Cracker's face, twisted into an angry snarl, and tried to disappear inconspicuously. He didn't want to annoy Cracker, ever. He looked to be worse than Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia; they had never hit him much, preferring to lock him in the cupboard for days at a time.

With a final, warning slap to the back of Ethan's head, Cracker opened the cupboard with the blood splatter and pulled out a pack of biscuits. Then he left the caravan. Slowly, Ethan straightened, wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. It left a thick red smear up to his wrist. His grey eyes flicked up, and caught sight of Harry, whose own green eyes glowed out of the gloom he was crouched in.

"What are you looking at?" he growled. Harry blinked, and quickly switched to looking at the table leg in front of him. It was made level with the others by a large block of wood. He jumped when a cereal grain hit his cheek. Ethan flicked another one at him, smiling cruelly. Harry pulled his knees under his chin and buried his head in his arms as Ethan continued to ping grains at him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

A plain motel room in Newcastle had become Remus' base of operations. Normally it would have been beyond his fiscal capability to stay there, one star though it was, but Dumbledore had been gracious enough to fund Remus out of the school's vast income. Normally Remus was adverse to charitable donations, but had reminded himself that it was all for Harry.

The room itself was not the worst he had ever stayed in. Watermarks on the ceiling, peeling tobacco-stained wallpaper, a bed with broken, squeaky springs and a single window that had one pane boarded up. The street outside was not a place sane people walked after dark, though Remus had done this after the long hours cooped up in the dingy little room, lit only by one bare light bulb, had begun to make his skin crawl.

Newspapers sent to him from all over the country, both local and national, were spread haphazardly over his lumpy mattress, each read front to back in search of any hint of a clue as to Muggle sightings of Harry. There had been no such luck that morning, nor the day before, or the day before that. Feeling the frustration writhe within him, Remus had abandoned his fruitless scanning in favour of staring morosely out of the grimy window at another glorious summer's day.

The younger children were playing on the street, bouncing a ball from one side of the road to the other in hopes of hitting the curb and getting another free shot. Others were playing 'chicken' with oncoming cars, and the rest were slowly demolishing a little brick bridge. The scene was familiar yet alien, a reminder of a long distant childhood spent hidden in his room, watching the world go by.

The latest owl from Dumbledore revealed that neither Snape nor Hagrid had had any luck either. If the centaurs hadn't sensed anything, and various patrons of the Dark Arts had heard no rumours, it meant basically that the pressure was on Remus, because the only place Harry could be now was in the Muggle world.

Remus rubbed his eyes fretfully. The problem was, the Muggle world was so huge! He had a little under three weeks before the full moon forced him into hiding, yet Harry had already been missing a whole month. There just wasn't enough time, and there were so few ways to make inroads in the Muggle world.

It was to this problem that Remus had turned his logical mind. There had to have been someone in all of Britain that had seen Harry since his disappearance, but finding and contacting them was the greatest obstacle. Remus knew the answer was right in front of his face, but was utterly frustrated that he couldn't seem to grasp it.

"Honestly, Lupin, you disgrace yourself," he muttered dourly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. At hip height beside him was a carton of orange resting dangerously on a wobbly pile of folded newspapers, backdated a month and each one thoroughly exhausted. Likewise, the telephone calls he had made to his few Muggle contacts had revealed nothing. As the circular problem whirled round and round in his head, Remus wanted to scream. Instead, he calmly took a sip from the carton and turned back to the mass of printed papers on the bed. The waning moon was making him lethargic, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for a few hours.

It was while staring at the newspapers blankly, fighting away fatigue, that the answer sprung itself on Remus. He gasped, dropping his carton before diving onto the bed. The answer was so simple, he was ashamed he hadn't thought of it already. But that was really beside the point; all that mattered now was that he had found a way into the everyday Muggle world. Grabbing quill and parchment, he set about writing a draft letter.

_Dear Editor, _

_I write on behalf of my close friend ..._

"No, I can feel your hand!" Harry's wrist was gripped and pulled, and he found himself yanked into the wood panel. Splinters dug into his cheek, and the hole clamped around his arm. He winced, but didn't move until Cracker released him. It felt like his wrist had been bruised as he rubbed at the abused flesh. There was a sharp rapping on the wood above his head, and he glared up at it.

"Try again, boy!" Cracker snarled. Sighing quietly, Harry slid his hand through the hole in the panel, felt the brief resistance of the cloth covering in the front that hid said hole until he found a small slit. It was big enough for him to reach into someone's coat pocket or handbag and withdraw their wallet.

Harry didn't like the idea of stealing, but when he had expressed this concern to Cracker he had been slapped around the face. Still reeling from the shock, he had been tossed back into the box and given instructions from Cracker. Harry wasn't going to try anything like that again. At the Dursleys, he had always felt capable of talking back to Dudley, or even Uncle Vernon sometimes - he couldn't quite bring himself to do the same with Cracker.

Taking a deep breath, he focused all his attention on the hand he couldn't see, sliding it gently into the woollen pocket of Cracker's fleece, trying to be delicate as he pinched a leather wallet between thumb and forefinger and teased it out. Pins and needles began to spread through his foot, but he didn't dare move as he levered the wallet past the cloth and wood panelling. It took him a few seconds of simply staring before he realised the wallet was in his hand, and Cracker had yet to bang on the roof.

"You got it yet?" he snapped, accompanied by the familiar rapping above Harry's head. Harry, slightly shaky with the realisation that he had picked Cracker's pocket, knocked once in return, as he had been told to do. Distantly he heard a shuffling, but Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the wallet in his hand. Sure, it was only Cracker's wallet, and it had only been a practice, but the implications behind it shocked him.

Light flooded in as Cracker threw open the door, reaching into the cramped box with a grubby arm. It stretched towards Harry, taking up more room than he was comfortable with.

"Give it to me, boy," he ordered. Trembling imperceptibly, Harry placed the wallet in Cracker's outstretched hand, which clutched it greedily. Harry was half-waiting for some comment of praise, before he realised how ridiculous the very thought was, and sighed.

"As 'e got it?" Ethan asked from the back of the stall. He had resumed his childish tap-tapping with his feet against the wood, a sound which was severely starting to get on Harry's nerves.

"What do you think?" Cracker snapped. Harry could hear Ethan muttering, his kicks rapping louder in Harry's ears. "Again, boy. Carnival's tomorrow, and you'd best be bloody perfect, or I'll knock you senseless, got it?" Sighing, Harry cleared his kneeling area of as many stones as he could. His knee had finally stopped bleeding from his first attempt, when he had knelt on broken glass, though it had stained his trousers.

While waiting for Cracker to set himself up by the hole, Harry reflected that the box wasn't all that bad. It wasn't dissimilar to his cupboard at the Dursley's, though a great deal smaller. It also kept him out of the sunlight, though he thought they must have gone hundreds of miles north of where Uncle Vernon had left him, because it was so much cooler.

Cracker's fist slapped once on the box, and Harry's hand snaked out of the hole. Now that he had done it once, he felt more confident that he could do it again. Carefully he felt for the familiar leather, clasping it gently between thumb and forefinger before easing it out of the pocket. He knocked once on the wood, and Ethan's incessant muttering ceased.

"I was quicker than that," he groused sullenly. Harry heard a smack as Cracker slapped his son around the head. The light that streamed through the side door was blinding to Harry, again, as he was now accustomed to the dark.

"Give it 'ere," Cracker said with one arm outstretched. Harry handed over the wallet, feeling a twisted sense of pride well in him. He was obviously doing well, for Ethan to be so annoyed, and as it had pleased Harry to irritate Dudley, so it pleased him now to irritate Ethan.

The door closed, and Harry heard Cracker and Ethan wander off. He wiped the sweat from his face, because the box was stuffy if not hot, and waited for his next orders. Maybe he would get a drink, or something to eat. Ethan had been snacking on crisps and biscuits all morning, and the smell was making Harry's stomach rumble.

Raised voices rolled over the grass to his ears, followed by the distinct silence of Cracker hitting Ethan, which Harry had quickly learned to recognise. Pressing closer to the wood to try to hear better, Harry detected the cough of an engine, growing fainter as it drove away. After a moment, Ethan's muttering started again, withdrawing to the campervan. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, too soon it seemed, because Ethan swiftly returned. He blinked in the sudden light, and was completely unprepared when Ethan reached in and dragged him out. Harry hissed as splinters dug into his skin, and he wrenched himself from Ethan's grasp as soon as he was out in the sunshine. He dodged when Ethan made another attempt to hold him, earning a hard punch to the head that left him dizzy and disorientated. Muttering under his breath, Ethan gripped Harry's arm and pulled him to the campervan, tossing him into a corner as he had the night before.

Feeling his scalp gingerly, Harry decided that he wasn't too hurt, and bravely returned Ethan's sneer with a glare of his own. Ethan began rummaging through the cupboards, one of which still had blood spattered over it, and pulled something out.

"'Ere. Dad says you gorra eat that, or else," he said, tossing Harry a packet of crisps. Greedily Harry tore it open, mouth watering at the mere smell wafting up. They seemed to melt on his tongue, and he thought they were the best things he'd ever tasted in his entire life.

"What're you looking at?" he asked, when he noticed Ethan staring at him.

"Gimme one," Ethan demanded, his eyes narrowed. Harry held his precious food closer. He was hungry, and he didn't know when he'd next be fed; he'd refused Dudley for lesser reasons.

"No. Get your own." He huddled closer to himself when Ethan leapt to his feet, but then Cracker's rusty van pulled up outside, and Ethan quickly sat himself back down. The door opened with a squeak, and the smaller man strode into the room, ignoring at the other two in there. In one hand he carried a woman's handbag, and in the other was a paper bag that Harry recognised from all the times Dudley had demanded a hamburger.

"MacDonald's?" Ethan said, evidently surprised. Cracker pulled out burger and fries for Ethan, a box for himself, and tossed the bag at Harry. He was delighted to find a small box of French fries inside for himself, and set to with as much gusto as Ethan showed.

"Hurry up and finish that. Afterwards, you're gonna learn to steal a purse from a woman's bag, gorit?" Cracker said. Harry nodded, his mouth full, but Cracker was already striding out of the campervan.

Ethan glared at Harry as they raced to finish their fries. Harry was first, and though the salt had made him thirsty, he dashed after Cracker before Ethan could stop him. Cracker was already waiting by the box, counting out money from the purse in his hand and storing it away in one of his many pockets. Harry wondered where all the money had come from, but was quickly shoved back into his box to await his lesson. 


End file.
